That The Fallout Trust have big, lofty widescreen ambitions is crystal clear on the evidence of their big, lofty debut album, ‘In Case Of The Flood’. Last track on the album, ‘Take Comfort From’ very nearly bagged it. The moody, sweet, deeply pleasurable misery derived from vocalist, Joe Winter lying prostrate in the speaker like some pleading, pilloried martyr unable to lift his cautionary tale beyond a sorrowful mumble and the crawling, minimal string arrangement curling like ivy around it, almost scored a direct hit in my book. For a moment at least, the arctic blast of those darling young monkeys very nearly melted and I was no longer able to predict a riot. For a moment I was not only out of touch with what was fashionable, I was enjoying myself too. Away from the day-trippers and the tourists, and the light-duty bondage cuffs of fashion, I very nearly kicked off my Reebok Classics, uncoupled my IPOD connection leads, pulled back my hoody and began rifling through my dog-eared old vinyl for a copy of Talk Talk’s ‘The Colour Of Spring’ and Peter Gabriel’s ‘So’ album. And I would have continued rifling but for one pleasure-breaking problem; the minimal string arrangement curling like ivy around the vocal wasn’t a minimal string arrangement at all. Nor on closer inspection was it ivy. This was a soundbank ensemble. A cleverly treated sample. Proteus X? Emulator X. Who knows. It was a pitifully cruel trick whatever it was. Not real exactly but not synthetic either. The sound was somewhere inbetween; something very nearly genuine and something very nearly not. And this was the problem with the Fallouts themselves. A mutual fascination for Bowie and Eno’s Hansa Studios had very nearly given us a fully developed and fully operational alternative to all the old clap of post-punk derivatives and cop baiting antics so familiar of the schoolyard; a band more preoccupied with the minutiae of the production and the juxtaposition of sounds than they were the next score. Every musical generation needs its ‘studio-band’, its Blue Nile, its XTC, its Beta Band, its Lemon Trees (well okay, no generation needs its Lemon Trees) and with a few more intuitive designs, and a larger budget we could very nearly have our own.
A six-piece unit from London with a meticulous eye for detail and conscientious respect for their craft, brothers Joe, Jess and Matt Winter (vocals, pianos, concept designs) in collusion with Guy Connelly (vocals, guitars, production) Gavin Ellis (bass) and Matt Watson (drums, programming) have painstakingly crafted an intricate, even bookish tome of 10 or so tracks that practically rattle with ideas. Sure, they’re not a singles band, and even the band’s early official foreplay releases, ‘When We Are Gone’ and ‘Them Or It’ failed to draw the attention of anyone other than internet music hacks or industry insiders, not one of them courting the mainstream and each one layered in prickly, jarring programs, bust-a-gut horn-sections, orchestral sweeps, classical pianos, twisted harmonies, extended intros, awkward time-signatures and profound, lyrical posturing. Only the frosty magnificence of ‘Before The Light Went Out’, the chart-seeking, Razorlight-friendly, guitar-chops of ‘Washout’ and the general Super-Furry malarkey of ‘One Generation Wall’ ever threatened to pique the interests of the playground. And the remaining tracks here, ‘No Beacon’ and ‘TVM’ do little to change things, as pretty as they are. But putting the pomposity and intensity of the Fallouts aside, this is very absorbing stuff.